I once had the privilege of watching Ibrahim Ferrer sing in the faded but richly atmospheric Egrem recording studios in Havana. Re-discovered late in life, he really was living a fairy tale. As was his friend, Ruben Gonzalez, who loved showing visitors to his home the brand-new piano that he had bought with royalties from his Buena Vista recordings. (His previous one had succumbed to a combination of age and the climate, and he'd been too poor to replace it.) Ruben died almost two years ago. Now Ibrahim has passed on too. At least the grand old diva, Omara Portuondo is still with us. And we have the albums - and the film - to keep us company.
Best to draw a veil, on the other hand, over Harry Belafonte's latest outburst against his favourite target, black Republicans:
Hitler had a lot of Jews high up in the hierarchy of the Third Reich...
(Via Instapundit)
Oh dear. He was a fine singer in his prime. Now he's in danger of becoming a bad joke. La Shawn Barber shakes her head. Jonah Goldberg responds at the Corner.
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